


Understanding

by LotheringHeights (redseeker)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Love Triangles, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 21:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11837526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redseeker/pseuds/LotheringHeights
Summary: Fenris regrets not taking the opportunity to be with Hawke when it was offered. Now he fears it may be too late.





	Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this back in 2014. I don't remember now if it was going to be something longer, but this file was still on my hard drive, so I figured I might as well post it :)

Three years he had waited. Three years Fenris had spent hiding from his feelings, and each day he held his silence drove Hawke further and further away. He had watched her grow closer to the mage, Anders, and even as it made the bile rise in his throat, he still had not been able to give voice to the burning emotion that kept him up at night and only seemed to grow stronger as the days passed. He didn't think he could stomach the irony if his own cowardice was what drove her into that monster's arms.

And now, today, he watched the two of them together and knew something had changed. The little looks between them, the smiles, the look of wonder on the abomination's face, as though he couldn't possibly believe his luck in simply being in Hawke's presence, let alone her affections. Fenris had to turn away in disgust. That this was his own doing was no consolation – in fact, it made it all the bitterer. He clenched his fists and trembled with the effort it took not to lash out and to slay the apostate right where he stood. No doubt Hawke would not thank him for that. Instead he channelled his fury, his anguish, and his misplaced sense of betrayal into combat, swinging his blade with unparalleled viciousness and tearing the pack of bandits apart. Fresh, red blood coated him and the blade both, and he was still panting and searching for his next target, for just _something_ to rip into, when he realised all his foes were dead and his so-called friends were staring at him with worry in their eyes. Worry and something like fear – all except for Hawke. A frown put a fine line between her brows, but she didn't fear him. He swallowed his embarrassment and put up his sword. He expected a word of reprimand, but Hawke said nothing. When she moved on, he followed, though he fell back to the rear of the group. He was no fit company just then, and could offer no conversation.

Hawke took the lead, her steps light as she traversed the rough, sandy trails of the Wounded Coast, bow in hand, hair blowing in the salty breeze. Anders walked at her side, head arrogantly high, a definite spring in his step. Between them and Fenris Merrill tried to keep pace. Fenris realised he was staring at Hawke and Anders only when Merrill looked over her shoulder and gave him a worried glance. He swore inwardly and averted his gaze.

That night he retired to his stolen mansion, slumped into the chair by the fire and lost himself to his own misery – with the help with a couple of bottles of wine. He looked around at the desolate hovel he had claimed for his own and was ashamed. With a snarl, he smashed the last empty bottle in the fire and went to bed. He had blown his chance at happiness, fumbled the opportunity for love Hawke had offered him. He was a fool, and he deserved every moment of regret and isolation he had brought down upon himself. He curled up in the centre of the bed that had once belonged to his master, and passed the night sleeping fitfully. The memories that haunted his dreams were not the usual horrors from his past but happier times, times spent with Hawke, but they were bitter-sweet in the remembering, because they were times he would never get back. Still, it was pleasant to lose himself in them for the space of a night, at least.

 

~~~~~

 

The business with the Arishok was almost a relief. Terrible violence and uproar aside, the chaos served as an adequate distraction to pull Fenris out of his self-pity. He still couldn't stomach the thought of Hawke and Anders together; it wasn't that he didn't expect her to take lovers – it had been three long years since their single night together, after all, and she was a beautiful young woman in a whole city full of any number of potential suitors. He had no right to be jealous or even have a say, since he had failed to stake any kind of claim upon her. Anyone else, he thought he might have been able to handle... but Anders was an abomination, a demon-touched monster who walked the line between sanity and madness every day, and each day threatened to tip further over that dangerous edge... On top of that, he was a sanctimonious, self-righteous bastard, and Fenris had no idea what a woman like Hawke could possibly see in the man.Fenris sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the metal claws of his gauntlet snagging on hidden knots. It had been three damn years and he was still carrying this hopeless torch...

The door swung open abruptly and Fenris whirled around, already reaching for his blade. He stayed his hand when he saw it was only the Guard Captain.

“Fenris,” Aveline began as she strode into the shadowy, fire-lit room. “I have some news about that woman you asked about, the elf from Minrathous.”

 

~~~~~

 

“I am here, Fenris.”

Such simple words, delivered without even a hint of guile, none of Hawke's trademark sarcasm, were almost enough to break his heart. Danarius's body was not yet cold, the common room of the Hanged Man still in chaos – though the destruction could not match the chaos in Fenris's heart. When Varania had walked away, he had been truly desolate, yet at the same time accepting of his solitary fate. With four simple words, Hawke changed everything. He clung to the note of hope in her voice; she was trying to reach him, he understood that. Part of him wanted nothing more than to run to her, press his face against her neck and cling onto her so tight she could never get away from him again. He maintained his outer control, just barely. He had to get out of there. He had to get away from the sight of Danarius, even lying dead, had to get away from the scene and the smell of battle; Andraste help him, he had to get away from _Hawke_ as well. And so he did what he was best at – he ran away. Again.

Leaving Hawke in the Hanged Man to deal with the chaos his and his sister's reunion had wrought, Fenris stalked home to dwell on the bombshells Varania had dropped into his life.

 

~~~~~

 

He wasn't prepared for Hawke to follow him home. He hadn't even been drinking, and somehow she had the truth spilling out of him, words tumbling out, things he had kept buried and hidden for three years suddenly flung out into the open. He felt naked, stripped and vulnerable under her gaze. He searched Hawke's eyes for a flicker of scorn or pity, and found only some emotion he didn't dare to name.

He stood over her, her face turned up toward his. No choice now but to charge onward, lay his cards on the table and pray she didn't simply laugh in his face. She had every right to, he thought.

“I should have asked your forgiveness long ago,” he said. “I hope you can forgive me now.”

“I need to understand why you left, Fenris.”

“I've thought about the answer a thousand times.” Fenris was alarmed to hear his voice begin to falter. Still, he owed her an answer. “The pain, the memories it brought up... It was too much. I was a coward. If I could go back, I would stay. Tell you how I felt.”

“What would you have said?” Her voice was even, careful; like someone approaching a wild animal, never sure if it would strike out at the first wrong move. Still, there was no fear in her eyes. There never had been. Often it seemed there was nothing that could scare Hawke – not darkspawn, not Qunari; not Fenris, not even that abomination Anders. The thought of the mage was almost enough to cut him short, but he pushed himself to continue. She deserved nothing less than brutal honesty.

“Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you,” he said.

“I understand. I always understood,” said Hawke.

Fenris's chest constricted. He searched her face for even the slightest hint of dishonesty, found none. All thoughts of Anders were immediately forgotten. Hawke wasn't rejecting him. She understood, and she was here... she was still here, even after three years of waiting. Waiting for him to realise his own foolishness in letting her walk away. He would not make that same mistake again.

He leaned over her, crowding her. When he spoke there was a growl in his voice, a little of the wolf Danarius had named him. “If there is a future to be had,” he said, “I will walk into it gladly at your side.”

This time it was Hawke who kissed him, though he wrapped his arms around her tightly and held her as though he were afraid she would disappear. The abomination could fight him if he wanted to; Fenris would not be fool enough to let Hawke go again.

 

 


End file.
